At Least by Raymond Carver

I want to get up early one more morning,

before sunrise. Before the birds, even.

I want to throw cold water on my face

and be at my work table

when the sky lightens and smoke

begins to rise from the chimneys

of the other houses.

I want to see the waves break

on this rocky beach, not just hear them

break as I did all night in my sleep.

I want to see again the ships

that pass through the Strait from every

seafaring country in the world—

old, dirty freighters just barely moving along,

and the swift new cargo vessels

painted every color under the sun

that cut the water as they pass.

I want to keep an eye out for them.

And for the little boat that plies

the water between the ships

and the pilot station near the lighthouse.

I want to see them take a man off the ship

and put another up on board.

I want to spend the day watching this happen

and reach my own conclusions.

I hate to seem greedy—I have so much

to be thankful for already.

But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.

And go to my place with some coffee and wait. Just wait,

to see what’s going to happen.

At Least

When I think of Raymond Carver, I think first of his timeless poem Late Fragment, which I may just have to adopt for my tombstone. But there are others, memorable in their own way – this is one of them. Carver shares with us his simple desires, beginning with getting up early one more morning. Note the ‘more’, which tells me he understands those mornings are not infinite.He wants to be up early, to watch as the sky lightens and the smoke begins to rise from chimneys.

He wants to see the waves break / on this rocky beach, to watch the passing ships in the Strait – old, dirty freighters just barely moving along / and the swift new cargo vessels. He can see the tug boat and the pilot station near the lighthouse. He sees them take a man off the ship / and put another up on board, simple, necessary movements. He wants to spend the day watching this happen and with his clear, eloquent descriptions, I feel I am watching this happen too, the scene unfolding with his words.

And then his honest declaration: I hate to seem greedy – I have so much / to be thankful for already. He is clearly grateful for all that he has, and yet, I want to get up early one more morning, at least. Those last two words crack open my heart – at least one more morning so he can sit with his coffee and wait, Just wait, to see what’s going to happen, just being present to what is before him, drawing his own conclusions without need to change anything. What might we see if we could but wait and watch and appreciate the moments before our eyes?